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I Am Not Even Tired Again

Decent Essays

“Please, please read at least one more story. We have more stories. I’m not even tired!”
“I saw you asleep—“
“And now I’m not tired! I did all my sleeping then. I need another story so I can get tired again.”
“How about I tell you a story?”
“Okay.”
“Now, when my mom was in high school, she had a boyfriend. I can’t exactly remember his name; she never really talked about him a whole lot. They dated for a few months, until one day they were on a walk. Every time, they walked, he was always on the outside of the street, but this day he neglected that duty. Now this is the lady who fell in love with my father because his shoes never had any scuffs in them, so you could imagine how well that went.”
These norms seemed so illogical to me at my young age that the sexist undertone went completely unnoticed. The concept of a man providing for the women, the man being the protector, or the man being the guardian of the family were concepts I was was completely oblivious to.
“Well, how did that go?” I asked
“…She broke up with him”
“Why”
“Because he didn’t walk on the outside of the street.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, if you are ever out with someone you love, then you have to walk on the outside of the street just in case.” My father cut out those sexist undertones completely and formed a new narrative, one of acceptance and sacrifice. This narrative is the one that stuck with me, not the gender norms, not my grandmother’s acceptance of these norms, and not one of an odd

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